


If You Don't Know Me By Now

by munibunny (b_cat)



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Curtain Fic, Future Fic, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-07-12
Updated: 2011-07-12
Packaged: 2017-10-21 07:25:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 755
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/222461
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/b_cat/pseuds/munibunny
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>All the things that we've been through. You should understand me like I understand you. If you don't know me by now, you will never never never know me...</p>
            </blockquote>





	If You Don't Know Me By Now

**Author's Note:**

> This is a work of fiction. All characters created by Eric Kripke.  
> Future Fic. Written for rockin_the_80s. “If You Don’t Know Me By Now” was writen by Kenny Gamble and Leon Huff and recorded by Simply Red in 1989.

It took years to clear it all but they did it anyway, mountains of wrecks piled as high as the sky, marking the time it took for Bobby to go from husband to hunter. All that’s left behind are a few old beaters for Dean to tinker around with whenever he feels like it, or cannibalize to keep his baby purring like a kitten.

The panic room is still there, but it’s mostly used to house their weapons stockpile. Dean replaced the poster of Bo Derek years before, carefully exchanging it each month with the most current Playboy Playmate. It’s Dean’s room in substance, but Bobby’s essence still remains.

The walls in the living room are now a pale shade of green, not his favorite, but the closest compromise he and Dean could reach without coming to blows. The kitchen is bright and airy, windows thrown wide to let the gentle breeze circulate the smell of Spring.

He’s got his own office now, books and manuscripts carefully catalogued and organized, everything spotless and in its place. It’s his own little sanctuary, a place to step back into something worn and familiar.

The morning is eerily silent, save for the birds roosting in the old Sycamore out back, and the gurgle of the coffee maker he’d turned on without even realizing he’d done it. It’s hard, but he resists the urge to look at his watch. Even so, his internal clock is telling him it’s been close to 47 hours.

Almost two days of nearly suffocating with anger and worry.

When he hears the low rumble of the Impala’s engine, the sleek black body is no more than a dot on the horizon. He sucks in a deep breath, letting his lungs fill with air for what feels like the first time since Dean walked out the door. As it is, he’s frozen in place, watching the familiar shape round the driveway and come to a stop in front of the house, tires crunching beneath her mighty weight. Carrying Dean home again.

His brother eases himself out from behind the wheel, his bad leg catching on the doorframe on the way out. Sam sees the telltale wince, the blood smeared across Dean’s faded blue Tshirt, and can’t help but choke back a sob.

His brother’s jeans are a dull gray, threadbare in places, and frayed at the bottom. His hair is still gold tipped, except for the slight bit of gray at the temples, and his eyes are fixed on the door as he drags himself forward, holding his left arm tight against his side. There are lines etched on his face now, years of pain leaving his youth behind, but to Sam, he’s still beautiful. Always will be.

He knows the moment Dean sees him standing there, frozen to the spot he’d cursed out his goodbye, heart jackhammering like thunder in his chest. Dean’s eyes soften, slipping closed in silent thanks, and Sam has a second to appreciate the symmetry between them.

They stand together, breathing in the reality of being close enough to touch, until Sam nudges him toward the bathroom.

His brother flops down onto the closed toilet lid, grimacing under the movement. Sam helps him lift the hem of his soiled Tshirt, tossing the garment onto the floor with one fluid motion before sinking to the ground between Dean’s splayed thighs. He runs tentative fingers over the mottled, already purpling skin, old scars mixed with far too many new ones.

“We’ve been here before,” Dean hisses when Sam probes his ribs.

“Too many times,” he sighs, fighting back the tears that threaten to spill over.

“Thought you’d be gone,” his brother whispers, and Sam rears back.

He wants to scream, ‘you should know better’ and ‘after all we’ve been through’ but the all that comes out is and a pained, “Dean.”

Dean shudders out a breath, and Sam swallows back whatever else he meant to say.

“Did you get it?” he asks finally.

“Yeah,” his brother replies.

Sam wraps his arms around Dean’s waist and kisses the purpling flesh just below his brother’s heart, tears spilling softly down his cheeks, the sharp tang of blood and sweat bitter on his tongue.

“Shhh,” Dean whispers, carding his fingers through Sam’s tangled hair to gently massage his scalp. “Sammy, it’s okay. That’s it. I’m done.”

He sobs out his relief, the unspoken ‘don’t ever leave me again’ hanging in the air between them.

“I’m here,” Dean echoes, reading his thoughts. “I’m not going anywhere.”


End file.
